


Bookstore

by WinJennster



Series: Painted Angels 'verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinJennster/pseuds/WinJennster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing time before he's supposed to meet his fiance for dinner, Dean Winchester stumbles across a book in a Baltimore Barnes and Noble. Just like that, his entire past comes back to haunt him. </p><p>(Prequel to Painted Angels)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place four months before the book signing.

How to explain why he loved Bosch so much - there had to be a book about that. The dude was legendary for painting the busiest pictures in creation, not to mention the orgies -  _ hmm _ , Dean thought,  _ maybe I shouldn't show that to the kids.  _

He sipped his coffee and wandered around the Inner Harbor Barnes and Noble, poking at the pop culture knick knacks, perusing the comics and graphic novels, thumbing through the CD section, and in general, stalling. He was supposed to meet his fiance at six for dinner and to discuss wedding arrangements, but Dean's heart just wasn't in it. It was quarter to six, and he really should have been making his way over to the restaurant instead of fooling around in the bookstore. 

It was still fairly difficult for Dean to reconcile the fact that in just five short months, he'd be a married man. Funny, not that long ago, he'd pictured himself married to someone els-

"Nope. Not going down that road," he muttered, pulling right out of that thought stream. Although, if he was being honest with himself - and he rarely was - Dean had been thinking about that way too much lately. Certainly way too much for someone about to get married. 

Wandering past the music section, a white paperback caught his eye. Reni’s  _ Michael _ made up the majority of the cover, but what stopped Dean dead in his tracks was the author’s name. 

Heart pounding in his chest, he plucked a copy of _ Painted Angels _ from the display, turning it over to read the back. Bright blue eyes stared up at him from the author photograph. 

Everything else around him faded away as he stared at the picture. He still looked the same, as handsome as ever, his lips still so sweet and pink - Dean ran a finger down Cas’s cheek, a lump forming in his throat. 

_ “Carver Edlund is in his senior year of college when he moves into a Baltimore firehouse with a brilliant, eccentric painter. They become friends immediately, and it doesn’t take long for their friendship to become something more. With pressure from their families, cracks start forming in their relationship, and Carver wonders if their love will prove strong enough to weather the storm.” _

_ Stunning debut from this first time author, and destined to become not just an LGBTA classic, but a classic in general. - Booklist _

_ An absolutely wonderful story. Engaging, uplifting, heartbreaking; a complete package. Novak is a genius. - NY Times _

_ Novak’s ability to turn a phrase in a new and unusual way is nothing short of extraordinary, and you can feel every ounce of Carver’s pain. In some places, it rings so true, you wonder if Carver isn’t a stand in for Novak himself. - People _

Writer. 

Painter. 

Baltimore firehouse.

Dean felt like he was going to throw up. Cas wouldn’t do that to him - would he? Cas wouldn’t write their story and sell it as fiction. He couldn't - he wouldn’t. 

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket.  _ I’m at the restaurant. Where are you? _

He sighed heavily, staring at the phone before sending his response.  _ Ten minutes. _

Setting the book back on the display, he forced his feet to move, carrying him out of the bookstore and across the Harbor to The Cheesecake Factory. Dean found Anna easily, and for the next two hours, he faked enthusiasm, doing his best to look interested and offer commentary on the wedding plans. 

"You're a million miles away," she finally said. "I just asked if your had picked out your  _ dress _ and you said yes." Anna pursed her lips. "What's going on with you?"

“I’m fine,” Dean muttered. “Just tired. Might be coming down with something.”

“Oh.” Anna took the bill from the waiter and paid it with their joint Visa. “You have seemed a little tired the last few days.”

“Have I?” Dean asked, surprised. “I guess I didn’t notice.”

Smiling, Anna wrapped her hand around his. “You’re so bad at taking care of yourself, baby. I need you healthy and happy. Is your apartment packed?”

“Uh, yeah. Sammy’s gonna help me next weekend. I have to move a bunch of stuff down to the firehouse until I figure out what to do with it.”

“I don’t know why you hold on to that place. It’s not like you’re using it for anything other than storage.”

“I’m just not ready to go through all my stuff and it’s not like it’s costing me anything to keep it. I just - I can’t face that place yet.”

Anna squeezed his hand. “Dean, I know it’s hard, with everything your dad did to you but -”

“No. Don’t. I can’t - I don’t want to think about that.” Because thinking about that made him think about Cas, and he did not want to think about Cas. Or that book, calling his name, begging him to come back to the bookstore and buy a copy. “Do you mind if I go to Sam’s tonight?”

“I guess not,” Anna said, frowning slightly. 

“It’s just been a couple of weeks -”

“I know. It’s fine.” 

The waiter brought the bill and the credit card back and Anna signed and left a tip. “Maybe I’ll catch up with some of my bridesmaids. I think they’d be better wedding helpers anyway,” she smiled, clearly teasing, but Dean felt the sting of her words anyway. He was pretty sure Anna knew he was currently phoning it in. She was too smart not to, and the way she reached across the table to rub his wrist was meant to be comforting. 

Anna really was too good for him. 

They kissed goodbye outside Harbor Place, and Dean turned to walk towards his car. Somehow, he ended up in line at Barnes and Noble, two copies of  _ Painted Angels _ in his sweating hands, one of which he thrust awkwardly at Sam when his brother opened the door. 

“What the hell?” 

“I’m curling up on the couch to read this. You read it, too, because I’m not going to be able to process this alone.”

Sam flipped the book over in his hands and read the back. “Holy shit,” he breathed. 

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

Dean finished just after midnight. Sam had finished about an hour before and ordered Chinese take out for them, and it sat abandoned and congealing on the coffee table. Dean’s eyes burned from reading so much in such a short amount of time, and from fighting back tears. 

“Are you ok?” Sam asked softly. 

“No,” he said softly, voice cracking. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shook his head and pulled a fleece blanket off the back of Sam’s couch, wrapping himself up and burrowing down into the cushions, hiding his face. “How could he do that to me?” he mumbled.

“What?”

“How could he do that?” Dean asked, speaking louder. “I know I hurt him, but fuck. Fuck. How could he do that? He put everything out there. Everything. Anyone who knew us back then is going to know that book is about me and how I fucked up and burned our lives down. And you know what’s the worst part, Sammy? I didn’t get that ending. I didn’t get the ending he gave them. I didn’t find Cas and ride off into the sunset. Nope. I never got that chance. Dad fucking took it from me.” The tears he’d fought so hard dripped down his nose and into the blanket. 

He felt the cushions compress as Sam sat beside him on the couch, resting a hand on Dean’s head. “I know. It’s not fair. And I don’t know what to tell you, or what to do about it.”

“Me neither.”

They sat in silence, Sam politely ignoring the sniffling coming from the blanket. 

“He must hate me,” Dean said, after a while. 

“I doubt it. I don’t get that impression from the book. If anything, it sounds like he misses you. That he wants the ending he wrote.” Sam took a deep breath. “Maybe you should try and contact him.”

“No. Nope. I’m getting married. What good would it do?” he snapped.

“Jeez, Dean, it was just a suggestion.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Me, too.” Sam got up and moment later, his bedroom door shut. 

Dean laid awake for a long time. 


End file.
